


Comfort Object

by grimmypuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Eternal Sterek, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Stiles, Sick Derek, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmypuff/pseuds/grimmypuff
Summary: Derek gets sick. Stiles nurses/nags him back to health with a few tried and true methods."Promise you'll respect the blanket, Derek, and I'll take it out.""I will not promise to respect a blanket.""It can hear you!" Stiles whisper-screamed. "Think twice, Derek. That's all I'm saying."He stared at Stiles, his face completely blank. "You're scaring me a little, I won't lie.""Promise me," Stiles repeated."Oh my God," Derek groaned. "Fine! Just show me!"





	Comfort Object

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to LupusScintilla for the original idea for this fic when I was in need of a prompt (Derek gets cursed by a witch and experiences sickness for the first time) and big thanks and appreciation to yodasyoyo for the beta and story picking. All remaining errors are mine. 
> 
> True fact: I wrote this over a period of a couple weeks when I had the cold from hell. I don't recommend this type of method writing, but I do hope it makes for an enjoyable read!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/grimmypuff) I basically reblog all things Sterek, Hoechlin, and Dylan O'Brien. Because what else is there? ;)

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store, pulling at his hair, looking for the brand of tea his mom used to make for him when he was sick. In addition to getting the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, he'd already grabbed tissues, half the cold medicine aisle, some honey and lemons; all he needed now was the tea, if only he could find it. Just then his phone rang, and in his anxiety, he almost fumbled it as he pulled it from his pocket. In a tangle of fingers, he managed to slide one across the screen and accept the call. "Hey, Scott," he said. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just, are you going to be here soon? I need to go pick up my mom at work." Scott's voice dropped to a whisper, and he said, "I don't think Derek should be left alone like this."

"I know, I know, shit. I'm at the store. I just need to grab one more thing - Aha! Found it!" There it was, like a little cardboard Holy Grail, the blue and white box he remembered from his childhood, nestled among the shelves of other tea boxes. "I'm gonna go pay now. Tell Derek to sit tight; here comes the cavalry."

"Huh?" 

"Don't worry about it, I'm on my way.

If Stiles happened to exceed the speed limit on the way to Derek's, he figured that was between him, the road, and hopefully no one driving a Beacon Hills Sheriff vehicle. His worry caused him to push the jeep faster than he should, and it whined in protest as he turned the corner into Derek's parking lot. He stumbled out of the jeep in his rush to hurry, grabbed the bags of supplies from the back, and raced up the stairs (because _of course_ the elevator was out of service again) to the loft. He didn't bother knocking, just pulled the door open and dropped the bags on the counter in the kitchen.

Scott grimaced at Stiles as he passed on his way to the door, and then he doubled back, clearly not wanting to say what he was about to. "Dude. Derek's like, gross sick. Snot and stuff. Maybe I should stay, and you could go pick up my mom. I don't want you to get sick."

"Nah," Stiles answered, pushing up his sleeves and setting some water boiling for tea. "I'm up for this. Besides, I don't think I can even get what he has. The witch's curse was that he'd feel sick like she did, I don't think she somehow replicated the cold virus."

"Why would anyone think it's a good idea to laugh at a witch whose spell went wrong because she sneezed in the middle of it?" Scott wondered.

"You've got to admit, it was pretty hilarious, Scotty. Anyway, go, I'll be fine." Stiles opened the box of tissues, after he heard a series of massive sneezes coming from somewhere in the loft, and said, "I'm armed, really, it'll be fine." 

Nodding, Scott made a beeline for the door. "Call me if you need me," he said, not sounding like he meant a word.

"Yup, get out of here," Stiles said while making a shooing motion with his hands. "I'll call you later with an update."

Stiles prepared the tea, steeping it for several minutes before adding honey and a bit of lemon for sweetness and flavor. When it smelled just the way he remembered it, he grabbed the box of tissues and made his way over to where there was a distinctly Derek-shaped lump under what looked to be every blanket he owned.

"Derek?" Setting the cup of tea on the bedside table along with the box of tissues, Stiles reached out tentatively to nudge the pile of blankets. "You okay, buddy?"

A low keening sound came from under the blankets. "Obviously not," he said, his voice sounding raw and scratchy. "I'm dying."

"I made you some tea."

"Don't want any," came the mumbled response. "My throat hurts."

Cautiously, Stiles attempted to excavate Derek from blanket mountain, peeling the blankets back one by one until he could see the back of Derek's head, his hair sleep-tousled and matted in some places. "God, how are you this miserable already? You've been sick for what, like two hours?"  

Rolling onto his back, Derek looked up at Stiles blearily. "It feels like two weeks."

Derek's eyes were red rimmed and watery, and he already had dark circles beneath them. "Aw, big guy, you look awful. You don't do anything halfway, do you?" Derek's glare was at a fraction of what it usually was, and Stiles tried his best not to laugh. "Come on, sit up and drink some tea. My mom used to make it for me when I was sick," Stiles said. 

As Derek struggled to push up onto his elbows, Stiles sat on the edge of the bed. "Here," he said, placing the cup in Derek's hands, once he'd managed to raise himself up into a sitting position. "This will make your throat feel better, I promise."

While Derek sipped at the tea gingerly, Stiles arranged the pillows behind Derek's back so they'd be able to support and cushion him at the same time. When he had them placed to his liking, he fixed the blankets so that they lay flat over Derek's legs, instead of being piled in heaps.

"It's good. It's helping." Derek's fingers were wrapped around the teacup for warmth, and his voice was more of a whine when he said, "I'm cold." 

"Dude, you must be. I don't think I've ever seen you in a sweatshirt. I'd incorrectly assumed you didn't own any." 

Derek's eyebrow arched at the 'dude,' but obviously feeling sick was mellowing him, because he didn't comment. He set the empty cup down on the table just before he was hit with a coughing fit, sinking back onto the pillows after it ended. Shivering, he looked up at Stiles.

The look on Derek's face was so pathetic, so forlorn, Stiles could feel his own brow furrowing in some kind of sympathetic dismay. "I'm going to go get you some medicine, okay?" he asked. "I'm not sure if it'll work on you, but I figure we should at least try."

"You're leaving me like this?" Derek said, his voice strained with disbelief.

"No, I already stopped by the store," Stiles said. "I'm just going to grab a water bottle and the meds. They're in the kitchen, I'll only be gone a minute." Looking distrustful, Derek nodded, and Stiles went and grabbed what he needed from the kitchen, returning with his arms full of supplies so he wouldn't have to leave again. Stiles popped a couple of cold pills through a blister pack and placed them in Derek's hand before opening the bottle of water. "Take these," he said. "Hopefully they'll help with the congestion and the coughing. The fever, too."

Choking down the pills, Derek managed to hand the water bottle back to Stiles before closing his eyes and sinking back onto the bed. "So cold," he murmured, tunneling further beneath the blankets.

Stiles tucked him in, making sure the blankets were snug, but not too tight. When Derek seemed settled after making a few truly impressive whining sounds, Stiles watched him for a few minutes, making sure he was really out before heading back to the kitchen to start on the chicken noodle soup.

He supposed he probably could have just bought canned soup, but he'd always assumed his mom's chicken noodle soup tasted so good because it was made with love. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that he wanted to make Derek Hale soup with _love_ , and instead concentrated on peeling and chopping vegetables. By the time the soup was simmering on the stove top, Stiles could hear Derek whimpering in his sleep.

"Hey," Stiles said softly as he approached the bed. 

Derek poked his head out from the covers. "I'm freezing," he said through chattering teeth.

It was beyond odd, seeing Derek so helpless, and over a cold, at that. He frowned, and reaching his hand out, he touched Derek's forehead. "It's the body's response to a fever," Stiles explained. "I don't think that medicine worked at all, I'm sorry." Stiles jumped when Derek grabbed his hand and starting pulling him onto the bed. "What are you _doing_?" 

"You're warm," Derek said, his tone almost accusing. "I'm not."

"Just to be clear, since I really don't want to die," Stiles began, "you want me to get in bed with you, right? That's what this is?"

"Get in. Please," Derek groaned, pulling on Stiles. "I'd do the same for you."

Not sure if he should be surprised or not with that knowledge, Stiles kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed. Trying to act like being in bed with Derek wasn't a big deal, and the exact location of most of his current fantasies, he prodded Derek until he turned onto his side. Sliding into the space behind him, Stiles wrapped his arms around him, even as Derek sighed happily. "This is so fucking surreal," Stiles muttered. 

Derek moved in closer until his back was flush with Stiles' chest, and while he continued to shake, the trembling lessened as Stiles tightened his hold. It wasn't much longer until Derek finally stopped shivering, content and warm. "Stiles," he said muzzily.

"Try to rest, bud," he said in an attempt to stop Derek from talking, wanting him to get some sleep. "I'll be here when you wake up." He pressed his lips to the back of Derek's neck, dragging them softly against his overheated skin as if trying to impart a physical sense of comfort. And then he froze. He'd just put his lips on Derek. It was just a reflex gesture, being this close to someone who wasn't feeling good. Right? More importantly, he wondered if Derek was lucid enough to make good on multiple promises to rip his throat out with his teeth. Surely if something called for it, unwanted advances were at the top of the list.

Maybe he should have left the care of Derek to Scott. But then again, _Scott_. Sure, Scott was his best friend, and Stiles would be the first to point out his many attributes, but even on his best day, Scott would've just called his mom to take his place. And it seemed to Stiles that what Derek needed now more than anything was someone who really cared. It was somewhat enlightening to realize he was that person. Yeah, he was most definitely that person.

***

They'd both fallen asleep at some point, and Stiles woke up disoriented. It was dark out, and Derek's fever had obviously broken because he'd pushed the blankets off them both in his sleep. His hair was a mess, his cheeks were slightly pink, and drool was pooling on his pillow, but Stiles still had to take a deep breath to convince his heart to slow down and stop beating double time. He hoped this didn't mean he had some type of caretaker kink; not when there were far better ones to have, anyway.

"You're staring at me," Derek said, not opening his eyes.

"Just trying to figure out if you're still with me."

"I've been eviscerated, had my back broken, electrocuted; I'm not going to be taken out by a cold," Derek said, his tone offended.

"Hey! You can't blame me for checking." Stiles sat up and crawled out from under the covers. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "I made some soup."

Derek's eyes widened. "You did?" 

Stiles shrugged. "You're sick. Everyone knows chicken noodle soup is like, the food to serve sick people."

"Can you even cook?"

"I take offense at that. Of course I can cook. It was either learn to cook or starve after my mom died," Stiles said. "My dad knows how to grill steak, and that's about it."

"Sorry," Derek said. "I didn't mean to be a dick."

"No harm done. Do you want me to bring you some soup, or do you feel up to eating out at the table?"

Sitting up, Derek kicked off the blankets. "I'm feeling better now," he said. "Maybe that medicine worked after all."

Stiles didn't really have the heart to tell him he probably just felt better because he'd been in bed resting, so he nodded and went to the kitchen and served up soup for the both of them. He set out a bottle of Gatorade next to Derek's bowl, and he grabbed a Coke for himself. It took a few minutes before Derek joined him, Stiles noticing in concern the way Derek seemed winded from the short walk to the table.

"Maybe I'm not better after all," Derek said, frowning. 

"Yeah, I'm sorry, it can seem like that before you start moving."

"My head feels like it weighs fifty pounds, and like it might explode." He took a long drink from the Gatorade Stiles had set out for him. "How the hell can you stand this?"

Shrugging a shoulder, Stiles said, "I don't know, man. Getting sick is just a part of life. It sucks, but we all have to deal with it, present company excluded. Just when you've finally had it, that's usually when you start to feel better."

"This sucks." Derek's eyebrows were nearly pushed together, and his mouth was turned down at the corners.

It was as close to a pout as Stiles had ever seen Derek's face make, and oh my god, did his lip just tremble? Gesturing to the bowls of soup in front of them, Stiles said, "Come on, eat up if you're hungry. You might not feel like eating later."

Derek did just that, only pausing to say, "This is really good, Stiles," when he was nearly through the bowl.

"Don't look so shocked, or I'll take it away."

A sharply arched eyebrow was Derek's response. "I'd like to see you try."

"Okay, fine. You're right," Stiles said, laughing. After he put away the remaining soup, he asked, "Do you want to watch a movie or something? I brought my laptop if you want to get back in bed." He blushed suddenly when he realized what he'd said. What had his life become that he was ushering Derek to bed? Not that he was complaining, not at all.

Swaying slightly as he stood up, Derek frowned and answered, "This is ridiculous. Definitely back to bed."

Once they were situated, Derek under the covers, and Stiles above, a movie chosen - _Goonies_ , because, why not, Derek turned to Stiles and asked, "Does your dad know where you are?"

"Yeah, I told him I was staying at your place tonight."

"Does he know why?"

Stiles grinned, turning away from the movie to look Derek in the face. "You mean, did I tell him you laughed at a witch, she cursed your ass, and you're miserable with your first cold, ever?"

He nodded pitifully.

"Yup, I sure did." At Derek's scowl, he said, "I had to! I mean, I know I'm nearly 18 and all, but sleepovers aren't really our thing, so it was either tell him the truth or let him assume something far more embarrassing and potentially life threatening. To you, anyway." Stiles scratched the back of his head and looked sheepish. "As it is, I'm not entirely sure he believed me, so if my dad does show up with a shotgun, you should probably run."

"Only you," Derek said, shaking his head as he burrowed further under the covers. "Only you could get me killed by trying to help me." 

"Impossible," Stiles said. "My dad would never actually commit murder; he's a good man. The worse he'd do is scare you. Well, and possibly shoot you?"

Derek started to laugh, but it turned to a cough instead. "That's reassuring, really," he said after he stopped coughing.

Stiles handed him a tissue when the coughing turned into sneezes. "She really got you good, didn't she? Have you ever sneezed in your life before this?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek said, "Werewolves may not be human, but dust and pepper and you know, irritants, still make us sneeze."

"You bring up a good point. There was this dog at the clinic once, and Scott-" Stiles stopped at Derek's glare and laughed. "Just pulling your leg there, man. I totally got you."

"You're way more annoying when I can't walk away."

"It's kind of great, isn't it?"

With a groan, Derek said, "If I go to sleep will you stop talking?"

"Probably?"

"Are you going to sleep in your clothes?" he asked. "I have extra sweats or shorts if you want to borrow some."

"That'd be great, actually," Stiles said. "I wasn't really thinking about that when I went back to my house to get stuff."

"What did you bring, if not something to sleep in?"

Stiles blushed slightly. "When I'm sick, there's this one blanket I like to sleep with. My mom made it when she was pregnant with me, so I guess you could technically call it my baby blanket." Stiles paused before adding, "If you make fun of me for it, you don't get to use it. And I'm not exaggerating when I say it has magical healing properties."

"I don't know, I think I've had enough magic to last me for the rest of my life," Derek said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Stop it right there," Stiles said in complete sincerity. "You will not speak disparagingly about my blanket." He hopped off the bed after pausing the movie they weren't paying any attention to, and went over to his backpack. He grinned as he walked back to the bed; any opportunity to annoy Derek was a good one, and Stiles certainly wasn't going to pass it up, sickness or not. "Promise you'll respect the blanket, Derek, and I'll take it out." 

"I will not promise to respect a blanket."

"It can hear you!" Stiles whisper-screamed. "Think twice, Derek. That's all I'm saying."

He stared at Stiles, his face completely blank. "You're scaring me a little, I won't lie." 

"Promise me," Stiles repeated. 

"Oh my God," Derek groaned. "Fine! Just show me!"

Grinning, Stiles pulled the blanket out of his backpack, a blue and orange patchwork quilt of soft flannel, made softer through the years by use and many washings. With a small grin, he spread it out over Derek's legs. "Behold, the beauty that is my blanket."

Derek's face was a mixture of emotions - surprise, confusion, definitely some amusement. Running his fingertips over the blanket, his touch was light, almost reverent. He opened his mouth and closed it several times before finally asking, "Was your mom a Met's fan?"

"She totally was," Stiles said, laughing at being taken by surprise at Derek's knowledge of baseball teams. "I played little league when I was younger, too. We were a baseball family, but after..." He frowned before saying, "It just didn't hold the same appeal."

"I can understand that," Derek said quietly.

Reaching out, Stiles picked at a stray thread at the edge of the quilt, thinking about how he'd brought it to the hospital for his mom, and how she'd cried when he told her he could sleep without it because she needed it to feel better. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and then shook his head as if to clear it. "So I'll just help myself to your clothes then?" he asked, effectively changing the subject.

"Go ahead," Derek said, managing a negligent wave towards a dresser.

By the time Stiles returned dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts belonging to Derek, his face washed and teeth brushed, Derek was nearly asleep. Stiles put away the laptop and fixed the covers over Derek once more. "Do you need anything before I go?"

Cracking open an eye, Derek said, "I thought you were staying."

"I am, I'm going to sack out on the couch. I thought it'd be more comfortable for you." Not to mention making a huge assumption about Derek wanting him in his bed seemed uncool. "Is that all right?"

"I have all the blankets here."

  
"You sure do. I could borrow one?"

"Or you could sleep here. There's plenty of room," Derek said. "Unless you're afraid of getting sick?"

That wasn't something he was afraid of. "Nah, what you have is more of a curse than an actual illness. I'll be fine." He turned out the lights and got under the covers. After getting comfortable, he whispered to Derek, "By the way I used your toothbrush. But don't worry, I rinsed it off after I accidentally dropped it in the toilet."

"Joke's on you," Derek said. "I use that after I eat bunnies out in the preserve."

"Tell me you fucking don't!"

"I don't. Go to bed, Stiles," Derek said tiredly, but there was a definite smile in his voice.

"Fucker."

"Yup."

***

Dreaming you were on fire was not a pleasant experience. Waking to find yourself wrapped in the arms of a burning-hot werewolf wasn't nearly as bad, though it did explain the nightmare. He attempted to extract himself from Derek's hold, only to be met with fevered mumbling, and an even-tighter grip.

"Please," Derek moaned plaintively. "Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving.  I'm just hot. You're burning up," Stiles said, able to pull himself out of Derek's arms with some effort.

Derek tossed and turned, obviously in the grip of a nasty fever. "Everyone leaves," he mumbled. 

Not sure what to do, he thought back to what his dad had done the last time he'd had a bad fever. Stiles ran to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, and back in bed, he laid it across Derek's forehead. "I'm here, Derek, and I'm not leaving."

"Mom," Derek whispered. Opening his eyes, Derek turned his head, looking beyond Stiles, trying to see behind him. "Mom?" he said again, his voice confused, but hopeful.

Stiles whimpered, biting down on his lips to keep quiet. He'd woken more than once in the middle of the night crying out for his mother, due to sickness of either his mind or body, and it was like a punch to the gut knowing Derek was feeling the same thing. "I'm here, Derek," he choked out. "I'm here."

"Dad?" Derek asked, his eyes unfocused. "I don't feel so good."

"I know, buddy. I'm sorry. I'm gonna take care of you."

Derek shook his head, but in his sickness, it was more of a thrashing back and forth motion, and Stiles was worried he was going to hurt himself. He put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, squeezing gently.  He flipped over the washcloth on Derek's forehead, turning it to the cool side. "Ssh, it's okay, Derek. It's alright."

It took several more trips to the bathroom to re-wet the washcloth with cool water, but eventually the fever started to break and Derek was able to relax somewhat. He still wouldn't let Stiles move away from him though, so Stiles rolled onto his back and pulled Derek with him. To his surprise, Derek followed easily, stopping on his side with his head resting on Stiles' chest and his arm thrown across his waist.

"Stiles," he said eventually, his voice calm and quiet.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Want Stiles," Derek murmured.

"I'm right here," Stiles said. "I've got you, Derek."

"Stiles'll take care of me," he mumbled against Stiles' chest.

"Yeah," Stiles answered. "You know I always will."

Grateful Derek wasn't in any shape to notice the skip-jump of his rapidly beating heart, Stiles worked on calming his own nerves by threading his fingers through Derek's hair. Of course it was silky and the best damn hair Stiles had ever felt, because what _wasn't_ perfect about Derek? And God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was swooning over Derek who was sick and smelly and feverish.

The motion of running his fingers through Derek's hair served to soothe both of them, and Stiles continued to do so until all that was coming from Derek was his slow, steady breathing. It was a strange feeling, being able to comfort Derek; Stiles knew he was witnessing something no one else had in a very long time - seeing him vulnerable.  It was his last thought before he followed Derek into sleep.

***

The ringing of Stiles' cellphone woke him up, and as much as he tried to ignore it, the damn thing just kept ringing. He'd taken it out before falling asleep the night before with the intent to text Scott, but he'd forgotten, and when he picked it up and saw it was him calling, he knew he wasn't going to stop. "Go 'way, too early," he mumbled.

"Dude! How's Derek? Why didn't you text me?" Scott asked. "He's still alive, right?"

"I don't know why you guys keep thinking this'll kill me," came Derek's reply from where his head still rested on Stiles' chest.

Startled, and wondering how he hadn't noticed he and Derek were still in the same position they fell asleep in, Stiles remained atypically mute as he stared down at the top of Derek's head. As if Derek could feel his stare, Stiles felt his hand flex slightly where it was spread low on his stomach and he swallowed audibly.

Scott's voice came through the speaker a moment later. "I thought you were sleeping. What's Derek doing right there?"

"I was sleeping, yes," Stiles said. "And I'd like to sleep some more. As you heard, Derek's alive, and I think the worst is over."

"But-"

There was no way Stiles was dealing with this now, especially with Derek present. "I'll talk to you later, Scott, I'm tired," Stiles said before ending the call.

"Morning," Derek said, his voice scratchy.

"Hey." Stiles cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "So how're you feeling?" Stiles asked.

"I've felt worse, but not recently," Derek admitted. "I had no idea being sick was like this. But I feel better this morning." He paused before continuing, hesitantly, "I'm a lot more lucid than I was last night, anyway."

Feeling brave, since Derek hadn't moved his head from off his chest, Stiles threaded his fingers through his hair once more. Derek's only outward reaction was to arch his neck, pushing his head more firmly against Stiles' hand.

"Feels nice," Derek said, his voice raspy from all the coughing. "My mother…"

He couldn't see Derek's face, but he could feel it against where it rested on his chest, and Stiles could tell the muscles were tight. He rubbed his fingers across Derek's scalp, tugging on his hair gently.

"My mother used to play with my hair when I was upset," Derek said, his voice small.

Stiles froze. "Oh. I can stop."

"No, don't stop. Un- unless you wanted to."

Slowly Stiles began to move his fingers again, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Tentatively, afraid that bringing it up would stop Derek from talking, Stiles said, "It helped last night. Touch, that is. It calmed you down when nothing else worked."

"Werewolves are very tactile," Derek said, tilting his head to look up at Stiles, his eyes clear and wide. "Since Laura's been gone, it's been difficult."

"I can only imagine." But Stiles couldn't actually. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing your entire family except the one person who'd only survived to bring even more devastation. "You know I don't mind this, right?" Stiles told himself to be brave and continued.  Still looking Derek in the eye, he said, "I know the only times we've touched before were to either push each other out of the way or to somehow save each other's lives, but I can give you a hug when you need one. 

There was only silence (and the rapid beating of Stiles' heart) as Derek stared up at him. "Okay," he eventually said.

"Okay?" Stiles repeated, his voice high. "You'll let me hug you?"

Derek laughed softly. "You kind of are, right now."

"Actually," Stiles said, "I believe what we're doing now technically qualifies as cuddling."

"Shut up and go back to sleep."

"Yeah, okay."

Nuzzling his head against Stiles' chest, Derek got comfortable once more and said, "Hey Stiles?"

"Mmm?"

"Your blanket does have magical healing powers."

Stiles adjusted the blanket over them and smiled to himself. "Yeah, I know."

***

_Several months later…_

"Derek, I'm dying," Stiles moaned, wrapped cocoon-like in blankets on Derek's couch. "I need tea and medicine and my blanket and soup made with _love_."

Derek came into view, cradling a mug of tea  - the same tea Stiles' mom used to make, of course. He set it down on the coffee table, and then pulled a water bottle and some medicine out of his jacket pocket. After Stiles had taken the medicine, Derek placed the mug in his hands. "The chicken noodle soup is already finished. You took a really long nap, so it's ready when you are." Stiles opened his mouth to say something and Derek added, "And yes, I made it with love."

"And what about my blanket?" Stiles demanded, a serious pout pulling his lips down.

"It's in the washer. We got pizza on it the other night, remember?" Derek took off his jacket and shoes and sat down, maneuvering himself so that Stiles could use his lap as a pillow. "Maybe this will do until your blanket's done?" he asked, running his fingers gently through his hair.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, a soft smile replacing his frown. "You're my comfort object now. The blanket's just a close second."

 

The End

 

 


End file.
